


pulchra mortem (candytuft and yellow carnation)

by symphony7inAmajor



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 06:32:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17955374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/symphony7inAmajor/pseuds/symphony7inAmajor
Summary: Being in love with them was hard enough before Alexander started coughing up the flowers.





	pulchra mortem (candytuft and yellow carnation)

**Author's Note:**

> hanahaki disease is pretty rare in hockey rpf, but i read one that one hit killed me so i decided to also write it. if you're unfamiliar with the trope: basically if you're in love and it isn't returned, you cough up flowers and then die. surgery to fix it also results in the feelings disappearing.
> 
> that aside, i chose these three because i love them and kerfy doesn't get nearly enough attention. guess this is how i choose to fix that. anyway... i hope you enjoy

Alexander never meant to fall in love with them. It just happens, inevitably, starting when they all showed up to training camp as rookies together and become fast friends. Moving in together seems like the natural thing to do, none of them wanting to be split up and live with one of the older guys.

So, no, he didn’t _mean_ to fall in love with them, but he does anyway.

 

\---

 

Living together works great for a couple months, until the day Alexander comes home early from the gym and finds JT and Tyson making out on the couch.

He freezes for a second, until his brain comes back online. “Uh,” he says, intelligently.

Tyson shrieks and flails violently enough that JT ends up on the floor.

“Ow.” JT sits up, rubs his head. “Hey man,” he says to Alexander. “Didn't, uh. Think you’d be back this soon.”

“No shit?” Alexander says. His voice sounds a few octaves higher than usual. On the couch, Tyson is trying and failing to discreetly pull his shirt back down. Alexander tries not to stare at him. He’s got marks-is that _beard burn?_ -all over his neck.  _Jesus,_ JT did a number on him.

“Um.” Alexander jerks his eyes back up to Tyson’s face. “We were going to tell you!” Tyson looks embarrassed. “We just. Didn’t know how, or anything.” JT curls a hand around Tyson’s ankle and levels a wary look at Alexander. _Oh,_ they didn’t know if he was going to be against it, them being together.

“No,” Alexander says. “I mean, like. Me too?” He looks at them, hoping they’ll understand what he means. And, thank God, they do, because Tyson’s face lights up and JT lets out a relieved sigh.

“Come here,” Tyson orders, standing up. He stretches out his arms to hug Alexander when he crosses the room, pulls him in fiercely. Alexander twitches when he feels JT wrap an arm around his shoulders, too, not having heard him get up.

“Thanks for telling us,” JT says, almost a whisper.

“Yeah, well.” Alexander clears his throat. “Didn’t want there to be secrets between us or anything.”

JT squeezes his shoulder before they separate, smiles at him. Alexander’s throat tickles.

That's when it starts.

 

\---

 

Alexander doesn't realize what's really going on for a while. He's got a bit of a cough that just won't go away, an ache in his chest that’s more than the one he feels when he sees Tyson and JT together.

The first petal comes up after a game.

After a win against the Leafs at home, a game in which Alexander had scored, and JT had scored the game winner in overtime, the atmosphere in the locker room is cheerful.

“Second star, huh?” Tyson leans over Alexander to scrub his hand through JT’s hair, grinning. JT laughs and catches his hand.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “So what do I get for it?” Alexander is close enough to both of them that he can hear Tyson’s sharp intake of breath and see the way JT’s expression changes to something suggestive. His chest twists and he looks at their joined hands instead.

“Uh, guys?” Alexander says. His voice comes out raspy and he clears his throat. “I gotta, uh. Bathroom.” JT lets go of Tyson’s hand immediately, Tyson leaning back into his own stall.

“Are you okay?” Tyson asks when he stands up.

“Yeah, fine, just a sore throat.” Alexander shoots them a thumbs-up before making his way to the bathroom.

By the time he bursts through the door, it’s getting harder to breathe. He staggers to the sink, grabs it tight on either side so he doesn’t fall down. It feels like something’s stuck in his throat, but no matter how hard he coughs, nothing comes up. Just when his vision is starting to go a little gray around the edges, he finally manages to clear out his throat. He rests his forehead against the edge of the sink, almost on his knees from the effort of coughing, and tries to catch his breath. His chest still hurts. His mouth has the iron taste of blood.

Finally able to stand upright, he stares into the sink. The first thing he notices is that the white porcelain is spattered with blood, but that’s not what scares him the most. Alexander carefully picks out the two things that had been blocking his throat, his hands trembling. _No, no, please no,_ and he knows what it is.

In the palm of his hand, true colours barely peeking through his blood, are two flower petals.

“No,” he whispers, and covers his face with his free hand. A sob tears its way out of his aching chest. He closes his hand around the petals, crumpling them, like if he can’t see them then they don’t exist.

A knock on the door startles him out of it.

“Hey, Kerfy, me and JT are going to go wait for you at the car. Don’t take too long!” Tyson calls.

“Yeah,” he wheezes. He clears his throat, tries again. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon.”

Alexander stuffs the petals into his pocket and rinses out the sink. He splashes some cold water onto his face to make himself look less like he’s been crying, then heads out.

It’s JT’s turn to drive today, and Tyson is sitting in the passenger seat. When Alexander climbs into the backseat, Tyson turns around to look at him while JT pulls out of the parking lot.

“So how’re you feeling?” he asks. Alexander presses a hand to the pocket containing the petals. He knows what they mean, and Tyson and JT would figure it out if he told them. So. He can’t tell them.

“Just coming down with something, I think,” he lies. Tyson makes a sympathetic noise. Alexander’s chest clenches and he swallows, hard.

“Well, when we get home, we can make you some chicken soup. That’s good for colds, right?”

JT snorts. “ _Make_ some, huh? Might be overestimating your cooking abilities there, Tys.” Tyson punches him in the shoulder with a mock scowl.

“We have instant noodles,” Tyson says crossly before settling back into his seat. JT catches Alexander’s eye in the rearview mirror and winks.

Alexander needs to _fix this_.

 

\---

 

The next week is all home games leading up to the bye week. Between games, Alexander manages to get away to talk to the team doctors. The doctors give him the same information he already knows about the disease.

“You have some months, maybe years,” he’s told. “The flowers are just starting to grow in your lungs, judging by the fact you’re only coughing up a couple at a time. When the disease enters the later stages, whole flowers will come up, along with-” here, they pause, murmur among one another, “other things.”

Alexander feels sick. “What are my options?” he asks.

They X-ray his chest, show him where each of his lungs has a flower in it, still small.

The doctors _hmm_ and murmur among one another before turning back to him.

“You have two flowers,” one of them says, gentle. He just nods, even though it wasn’t a question. “You have two people?” she guesses.

“Yes,” he admits.

The doctors _hmm_ again.

“Why don’t you go get dressed,” says the woman, Dr. Moore. “We’ll talk after.”

Alexander changes out of the hospital gown they’d given him, goes to Dr. Moore’s office. He sits across her desk from her. She laces her fingers together and leans forward.

“So,” she says finally. “You have a couple options at this point. Is it possible that your people could return your feelings?”

“No,” Alexander says. A bitter taste rises in his mouth when he remembers the first day he’d been “sick,” Tyson and JT making him dinner and sitting with him on the couch, when he’d thought _maybe_ , until it was time to go to bed and Tyson went with JT, and Alexander was alone.

Moore looks at him sympathetically. “Then your only option will be the surgery, I’m afraid.”

Alexander tries to picture that, a version of him that cares about JT and Tyson as no more than friends. He can’t imagine it.

“I can’t,” he manages to say, before doubling over in a coughing fit. Moore passes him a wad of tissues, and he spits blood and petals into them.

“You still have some time until it becomes truly urgent to remove the flowers,” she tells him, “but twice as many flowers means half the time. If it was just one, I’d give you about three years until it’s fatal. In your case, it could be less than a year. But the surgery isn’t perfected yet,” she adds. “Sometimes, all feelings toward the person are removed, even friendly ones, or the person never experiences romantic love again.” Alexander’s fear must show on his face, because she hurries to say, “I have to warn you about all possible outcomes, but those are extremely rare.” _Not comforting_.

“Can I-” he sucks in a breath. “Can I think about it?” he asks.

“Of course,” Moore says. “I can’t give you anything for it, but come back regularly for check-ups. As long as it doesn’t affect your play, then you have no reason to tell the team. I will have to tell your coach and management.”

“The ice is the only place I feel okay,” Alexander admits. “It’s like-I can breathe there.”

Moore nods. “If that ever changes, you tell someone immediately.” She looks at him sternly. “And I mean _immediately_. I don’t want any hockey player martyrdom when it’s your life at stake,” she says.

Alexander leaves feeling no better than before. He never thought he’d have to confront his own death before his twenty-fourth birthday, but now he’s got to decide between living or dying in the next couple years.

The drive home feels like it takes too long. When he finally gets back, JT’s in the kitchen making sandwiches and Tyson’s taking up too much room on the couch, as usual. He perks up when he sees Alexander.

“Kerfy!” Tyson makes grabby hands until Alexander joins him on the couch. He sits an appropriate distance away, but Tyson manages to flop sideways so that he’s leaning right up against him. “Where’d you go?”

“Uh.” Alexander blanks. “The rink,” he says, not bothering to think up a convincing lie.

“What for?” JT asks. He sets three plates down before sitting on Alexander’s other side.

“Just had to take care of something,” Alexander says vaguely. JT _hmm_ s but seems to accept this. He slings an arm over the back of the couch to pat Tyson on the head, then just. Leaves his arm there. Tyson drops his head against Alexander’s shoulder.

“Want to watch a movie with us?” Tyson asks. Alexander takes stock of his position. Tyson is leaning on him on one side, JT’s arm practically around his shoulders. And JT made him a sandwich.

It’s a bad idea. It’s a _terrible_ idea, actually, because what he should really be doing is spending _less_ time with them, trying to make himself fall out of love.

He thinks about the flowers growing in his lungs. “Candytuft,” the doctors said, pointing, “and yellow carnation.” His chest hurts. Then Tyson wraps a hand around his wrist, gentle. Just holding on.

“Yeah,” he says, and his voice is clear. “Okay.”

 

\---

 

The rest of the season is hard, not just counting the games. Alexander still has to live with JT and Tyson, who have mostly stopped making out on the couch when Alexander is home, but are still obviously in love enough that Alexander has to excuse himself to the bathroom to spit out a few white and yellow petals a few times a day.

In Chicago, in March, the PR team films a feature with Tyson for Avs360, getting him special glasses to help him see colours for the first time. JT texts him about it, says, _LG was going to do it but if I asked to do it instead do you think they’d let me???_  

Alexander just texts back, _They know he’s your boyfriend,_ before lying down to stare at the ceiling and tries to ignore the twisting feeling in his chest, the bitter taste of jealousy in his mouth. It doesn’t help.

He goes to cough up the petals.

 

\---

 

They’re home when the video comes out, and Alexander watches it alone in his room.

He barely makes it through the whole video before he feels the suffocating pain of the petals in his throat.

JT and Tyson are in the living room, having a spirited conversation about… dinosaurs? Alexander decides not to worry about it.

“I’m just saying,” Tyson is saying loudly, “you can’t say that the T-Rex _isn’t_ the most iconic dinosaur of all time when-oh, hey Kerfy, what’s up?” JT makes an amused face at Alexander over Tyson’s shoulder. Alexander raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t ask about the dinosaur thing.

“Your video came out,” he says instead. Tyson looks confused for a second. “The glasses,” Alexander reminds him.

“Oh, yeah!” Tyson grins. “How is it?”

“You guys are, like, so obvious,” Alexander says. They’d basically flirted the whole time. It was almost embarrassing.

“Maybe not, if you don’t know what you’re looking at,” JT says cryptically. Tyson looks at him, then back at Alexander. His face is unreadable, which is unusual.

“Uh, sure.” Alexander stifles a cough. “Just thought you guys should know it’s out.” He retreats to the bathroom before he can do something like throw up petals on them.

When he’s done spitting blood and petals into the toilet, he leans back against the wall and presses his hands to his eyes. It hurts almost _all the time_ , now. Less than a month until the season ends, at least. Maybe during the offseason he can-what? Fall out of love? Not likely. Besides, the doctors had given him until well into next season until the surgery would be necessary to save him.

He has to wait.

 

\---

 

The last weeks of the season are almost too intense for Alexander to even think about anything other than hockey. Their days are eat, sleep, practice, game, over and over, trying to get the next points and clinch playoffs.

The first three games of April, they lose, only managing to steal one point from the Ducks.

Then the Blues come to town. Everyone is nervous, no matter what they tell the media about it being “just another game.” They all know it’s more than that-they all want to prove that they’re _better_ than last year, even the new guys.

Before they leave the house, Tyson pulls JT into a kiss “for good luck.” Alexander pretends to be grossed out by them, so Tyson sticks his tongue out at him.

“Shut up,” Tyson says. Alexander doesn’t bother reminding him that he didn’t actually say anything. “We’re gonna win this one, right boys?” He hooks an arm around JT and Alexander’s necks, shakes them a little. “Right?”

“Yeah,” Alexander says, and he knows, with complete certainty, that they will. JT smiles at him. “We’ll win.”

They do.

Playoffs are somehow crazier than the last couple weeks, even though they only play six games. It sucks, losing, but most of them are happy enough that they _made it,_ especially after what had happened last year.

So, Coach gives them a little speech, Gabe tells them he’s proud of them, and they clean out their lockers. Then-it’s over. _Months_ until they have to be back in Denver.

JT and Tyson are going to a lake with Nate for a few days. They’d asked him to come, but. He needs some space, some time to get over them.

Alexander goes home.

The offseason is long. He has to tell his family about the disease when he gets caught coughing into the kitchen sink after Tyson calls him.

“Do you know what the Romans called it?” Colton asks him one night. Alexander is lying on the couch, Colton on the floor with a book open in his lap. Ever since they found out, his family has been determinedly researching his sickness as much as they can.

“Yes,” Alexander says. He’d spent a few days doing his own reading when he’d first realized what was wrong with him.

“ _Pulchra mortem_ ,” Colton says, as if he hadn’t heard him. “You know what it means?”

“ _A beautiful death_ ,” Alexander translates. “I know.” Colton turns a few more pages, makes some considering noises. Alexander answers a few texts.

“ _E_ _w_ ,” Colton says, sounding both disgusted and fascinated at once. “You’re going to cough up pieces of your _lungs_?”

Alexander drops his phone onto his chest and starts to cry.

Nobody tries to talk to him about it again.

 

\---

 

Going back to Denver is a relief. Training camp isn’t easy, but he’s home with Tyson and JT again. It was worse, during the summer, when he only had phone calls and Skype and texts to talk to them, and still had to deal with the flowers almost every day. At least now he can see them.

He’s still not sure if that’s for the best.

 

\---

 

Preseason goes by quick, and they get a few days off before the home opener.

Alexander goes to the gym, goes to practice, tries to avoid sticking too close to JT and Tyson without looking suspicious, probably fails, then it’s October and they’re playing hockey again.

Everything goes great for about a week, until they lose JT to a concussion.

  
\---

 

“Six weeks,” JT says miserably. Alexander had driven him in to see the doctors when JT said his head hurt, spent most of the time JT was with them in the bathroom coughing. It gets harder to control when one of them isn’t well. JT goes to reach for his phone, but Alexander snatches it out of his hand before he can turn it on.

“Uh, no.” Alexander passes him some sunglasses. “I know concussion protocol too, dumbass. No phones.” JT looks at him mournfully and, like. _Christ,_ he’s whipped. “I’ll text Josty,” he relents. “But we’ll be home soon anyway.”

 _Doc says 6 weeks,_ Alexander sends. He glances at JT, slumped in the passenger seat, fiddling with Alexander’s sunglasses. A lump rises in his throat, but he swallows it back. _He’s pretty upset._

Tyson answers almost immediately, because he was probably waiting on an update from them. All he sends is a _:(_ emoji. Then, _I’ll make lunch._ Before Alexander can object and point out that that’s probably unsafe, Tyson adds, _By ordering some, shut up._

Alexander just sends back a winky face before he takes JT home.

 

\---

 

Alexander feels like shit, a little bit, when the team has to go on a week-long road trip and leave JT behind. He knows Tyson feels terrible too, holds JT long and tight while JT tells him something too quiet for Alexander to hear. JT is holding Tyson’s hand where it’s pressed to his chest.

“Just a minute,” Alexander squeaks. “Bathroom.” He half-runs to the bathroom, manages to catch himself on the sink before doubling over with the force of the coughs. His fits have been getting worse recently, more clumps of petals rather than individual ones. Still, no complete flowers have come up yet; that’s when he’ll really need to worry. Alexander spits out the last few petals, presses his forehead to the mirror while he catches his breath.

This is _hopeless_. Alexander might as well just get the surgery to spare himself the pain of seeing them together, not wait months and suffer about it. There’s no _point_ , not anymore.

Alexander flushes the petals down the toilet and turns on the tap to clean out the blood in the sink, imagining he’s watching his feelings for them disappear down the drain, too. He can call the surgeon tomorrow, get the surgery done when they’re back from the road trip. _Easy_.

Only it’s _not_ , because just as Alexander swishes some water around his mouth, there’s a soft tap at the door.

“Are you okay?” JT sounds worried. “Tyson’s waiting outside with the Uber, but I can order another one if you need.” Alexander closes his eyes. Why does JT have to be so _nice_ to him all the time? If he knew the truth, knew that Alexander has feelings for him and his _boyfriend_ , he would never be like this. How can Alexander lose this? If he gets surgery at the beginning of the season with no injuries requiring it, they’d figure it out. They’d also figure out why he’d need the surgery in the first place, since he’s never talked to them about anyone else he has feelings for. 

JT, probably concerned that Alexander wasn’t answering him, knocks again. “Alexander,” JT says, and Alexander flinches. They don’t call him that unless something is serious. He chokes back the flowers threatening to come up, makes sure the sink is clean, and opens the door.

JT steps back a bit to let him out. He still has the shadowed look on his face that he’s been wearing since the doctors told him he’d be out for over a month, but his expression is pensive, almost thoughtful. “Are you actually okay?” he asks. He reaches out to touch Alexander’s shoulder and Alexander cuts off the, “Yeah, fine,” he’d been about to say. “You don’t have to lie to me,” JT tells him. “Tyson’s not here now.” And-he has a point. Alexander had been trying to hide that he was _not okay_ from both of them, but Tyson especially. He’s just-his emotions get the best of him sometimes.

“I’m not,” Alexander says, finally letting himself be honest. “But I’m dealing with it. I’ll be alright.” JT looks doubtful, but doesn’t push it. Instead, he pulls Alexander in for a hug. Alexander absently registers that he smells really good before he steps back.

“Call me if you need to, you know.” JT fidgets, shoves his hands in his pockets. “Talk, or something. About what’s bothering you.”

“Yeah,” Alexander croaks. He clears his throat. “Gotta go.” He leaves JT standing in front of the bathroom door, staring after him in confusion.

  
\---

 

On the road, he rooms with Tyson, who has a habit of joining Alexander in his bed to watch TV and then falling asleep. Alexander knows Tyson isn’t well either, having trouble sleeping because he’s worried about JT, so Alexander can never bring himself to wake him up.

The first time, Alexander wakes up in the morning with Tyson curled into his side, still sleeping. The pain in his chest is suddenly so intense that he barely makes it to the bathroom. When he’s cleared out as much as he can, he turns on the shower and sits on the floor of the bathtub, shivering despite the hot water.

He can still feel the phantom warmth of where Tyson’s hand was pressed against his stomach, and buries his face in his hands and cries until he has to throw up again.

 

\---

 

For the rest of the week, every night, Tyson falls asleep in his bed. The last couple days, he doesn’t even bother turning on the TV, just crawls under the blankets and waits for Alexander to join him. Every morning, he wakes up with Tyson tangled around him, breathing snuffly little breaths against his neck.

Every morning, he spends almost an hour in the bathroom trying to dislodge the petals stuck in his throat, lets the noise of the shower cover the sounds of his coughing.

He doesn’t call the surgeon.

 

\---

 

They go home late at night, the sky outside the plane pitch dark. Tyson falls asleep on Alexander’s shoulder after an hour. He’s wearing a hoodie over his dress shirt, a _37_ resting over his heart. Alexander stares at it for too long before looking out the window instead.

An Uber drives them home from the airport, Tyson resting his head against the window. Alexander watches him, and looks away when Tyson glances over.

Tyson stumbles into his room when they get back, clearly exhausted despite all the sleep he’d gotten on the plane. Alexander is about to head to his own room, but a soft noise from the couch distracts him.

It’s JT, curled under a blanket, blinking sleep out of his eyes. Alexander crouches to be at eye level with him.

“Hey, buddy,” he whispers. JT frowns.

“You didn’t call me,” JT says, and he sounds disappointed, almost upset.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Alexander says. “I had to deal with Tyson all week. He’s a real handful, isn’t he?” JT makes a face. Alexander winces. “That didn’t come out right.” JT snorts.

“You’re right, though,” JT admits. He sits up, rubs his forehead. Alexander rocks back on his heels and stands up. He extends a hand and pulls JT off the couch. Alexander may have miscalculated the force he needed to do it, because JT ends up standing _way_ too close.

Alexander can practically count his eyelashes. He feels JT’s breath on his lips.

“I--” JT starts to say something, but Alexander feels like he’s suffocating, and he can’t _do_ this right now. 

“Tyson’s in his room,” Alexander blurts. He pushes away from JT and stumbles to the bathroom.

 

\---

 

Three days later, Tyson gets hurt, too. Him and JT make a pitiful pair, but Alexander doesn’t feel as guilty leaving just one of them behind. At least they have each other, and Alexander knows they’d always choose that over leaving the other behind to be with him, despite their twin sad looks when he leaves for one game in Minnesota.

When he gets home, the team has no games for four days. He splits his time between practice, home, and seeing the doctors. They tell him nothing he doesn’t already know--by the time Tyson’s well enough to play again, the first complete flowers are coming up.

It’s worse on the away games, because Tyson still sleeps beside him. The white flowers, mixed in with yellow petals, come out stained pink and red, and he flushes them down the toilet every time on those days.

 

\---

 

Finally, finally, JT is deemed well enough to join them on the road. Alexander’s glad, but he can’t help miss the nights he’d spent with Tyson, which is stupid, since JT is Tyson’s actual boyfriend. 

It is what it is, and there’s nothing he can do but play hockey.

 

\---

 

They win in Anaheim, they win in LA, and JT is ready to play when they get to Phoenix.

“Gonna score for me out there?” Alexander asks. JT grins.

“Maybe,” he says mischievously.

“Oh, me too!” Tyson leans around Alexander. “Score for both of us,” he adds cheerfully.

“Sure, no pressure, right?” JT rolls his eyes, but he’s laughing.

Alexander spends the last five minutes before they have to hit the ice in the bathroom. He holds one of each flower in his hand, then runs them under the sink until his blood is gone. The cheerful yellow and unblemished white seem incongruous with all the pain the flowers have caused him. When it’s time to play, he stuffs the flowers into his gear where they won’t be uncomfortable, and he goes.

 

\---

 

JT’s first goal makes Tyson yell and smack Alexander enthusiastically in the arm. Alexander laughs, almost disbelieving, and presses his hand to where the yellow carnation is tucked into his chest guard. When JT skates by the bench, his smile lighting up his face, Alexander has to take a drink of water to pretend like that’s why he’s coughing.

JT’s _second_ goal, barely a minute later, makes the bench go _crazy_. “ _Two_!” Tyson shouts. “Two shorties!” Alexander grins at him before the replay’s shown on the Jumbotron, and both of them turn to watch. JT winks at them both when he fistbumps them, still with that same smile.

Play is still stopped when the worst happens.

JT comes back to sit with them, knocks their helmets together with a laugh. Tyson, quiet enough that nobody else would be able to hear, says, “God, I fucking love you.”

Then, for the first time ever during a game, Alexander _can’t breathe_. It’s not just the need to cough up a few petals; it’s even worse than the feeling he gets when the full flowers come up. It’s never been this bad before. Alexander can’t even leave to the locker room; he probably couldn’t make it down the bench.

He lurches upright, leans over the ice. His chest is heaving, but he’s not taking in any air. Not caring anymore that there are thousands of people in the arena who can see him, probably just as many watching on television, plus his whole team, Alexander rips off his helmet. It hits the ice, and it feels like that’s the only sound in the whole building.

The crowd goes quiet. Alexander’s hacking cough seems to echo, magnified by the silence. Tyson and JT’s pale, scared faces are just visible in his periphery.

He reaches, hand shaking, up to his mouth. He pulls out the flower-no. Two flowers, twined together so tightly that they looked like just one. But he _still_ can’t breathe. He practically throws himself over the boards, needs space to breathe. It doesn’t help. Now he can see red splatters of his blood staining the ice where he’s coughing.

The last things he sees before his vision goes black are the two flowers, lying crumpled on the ice, and Tyson and JT jumping over the boards behind them.

 

\---

 

When he wakes up, he’s lying in a bed that isn’t his, the room dark. For the first time in what feels like forever, his chest doesn’t hurt. Before he can think too hard about that, he hears someone else in the room. Two someones, actually, because when he looks over, JT is sitting in the armchair in the corner of his hospital room--it is a hospital, because now he sees the heart monitor beside his bed--and Tyson has a chair pulled up to the edge of the bed, but he’s fast asleep, head resting on his arms on top of Alexander’s sheets.

JT looks up from his phone, blinks. Alexander holds eye contact with him for all of three seconds before he has to look away. He stares at Tyson’s messy curls instead, tries not to imagine what it would feel like to run his fingers through them. That kind of dangerous thinking is what got him in this mess in the first place, after all.

“Hey,” JT says, soft. He moves to stand next to the bed, shakes Tyson’s shoulder on the way. “He’s awake, Tys.”

Tyson groans and raises his head, eyes bleary. His face clears when he sees Alexander. “You’re up!” He looks ecstatic, but then he frowns. “How are you feeling?” he asks.

Alexander weighs this question for a moment, settles on, “I’m good.” At their doubtful looks, he adds, “I can breathe properly again.” He doesn’t say anything about how the surgery didn’t work, because he still feels the same when he looks at them, that warm feeling in his stomach, so he’ll probably start coughing again soon.

He touches his chest, trying to feel where they would’ve cut out the flowers.

“Alexander,” Tyson says, and he freezes. “You didn’t--they didn’t give you the surgery.”

“But,” Alexander doesn’t understand, “then how--?”

His question is interrupted by Tyson leaning forward to kiss him, soft and sweet. When he pulls back, Alexander stares at him, then JT, who’s watching them with a satisfied expression.

JT reaches into his pocket, takes something out and rests it on Alexander’s chest. It’s the flowers from the game, still twined together

“We didn’t know,” JT says. “If we’d known--”

“We love you, too,” Tyson blurts. He blushes, reaches out to take Alexander’s hand. “Is what he’s trying to say.”

Alexander pushes himself upright to lean back against the pillows. He doesn’t _understand_ how this is possible. Tyson sweeps his thumb over Alexander’s knuckles.

“Really?” Alexander’s voice is small, uncertain.

This time, it’s JT who leans down to kiss him, his beard rasping over Alexander’s face for a moment. This time, Alexander kisses back.

Tyson’s hand tightens around his. JT draws back, but only enough to rest their foreheads together. Alexander closes his eyes.

“Promise,” JT says. He kisses Alexander again, just quickly, and steps back to let Tyson take his turn. This kiss is much more enthusiastic than the last one. It leaves Alexander feeling breathless, but now, that’s okay.

Now, he feels like he can breathe best when he’s around them, because he loves them, and they love him back.

 

\---

  
  
So, Alexander never _meant_ to fall in love with them, but he did, and it was the best thing that ever happened to him.

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know what you think! i've never written anything ot3 before so like... i was just winging it. hope i did an okay job!


End file.
